


Familiar

by Storm337



Series: 2019 Tumblr Drabbles [67]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Near Drowning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24190303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Storm337/pseuds/Storm337
Summary: Reach with WilfordRequested on Tumblr by Anonymous
Series: 2019 Tumblr Drabbles [67]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587562
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	Familiar

Falling is familiar, in the same way that deja vu is familiar. It is, and yet it isn’t. It feels like the ghost of familiarity, dangling on the edges of memory, slipping through the gaps of time. It has happened to him, and yet it hasn’t. It has, perhaps, happened to this body, and somewhere deep inside of this broken shell, it remembers, and thus he remembers. 

Drowning is familiar, but it is a full familiarity. He remembers the icy cold water pulling his body in. He remembers gasping in shock, filling his lungs with water, weighing himself down, limbs getting heavy, sight getting hazy. He remembers how utterly frigid it was, and how his limbs locked up the further he sank. Drowning is kind of like falling, but slower, gentle in its own deathly embrace. Going deeper and deeper, the light far above slowly leaving, the water pushing and pulling against his limp limbs, the cold seeming to eat him from the inside out. 

It is different, this time. This time, he isn’t Damien. This time, he is Darkiplier, and the light is leaving him far above. This time, he sinks alone, with no murderer to catch him, no sister to protect him. 

But the body remembers. The body has memories of falling, and drowning is like falling. There are hands plunging below the surface, reaching, and the body remembers reaching back, even as the momentum began to carry them over the edge. They hadn’t made it, last time, but this time is different. This time, when Darkiplier reaches, the hands grab ahold. His descent is stopped and then reversed. The hands grasp at him, nails digging into his skin, climbing their way towards him, from wrist to arm, arm to chest, chest to hair- 

Breaking the surface is like shattering a fragile mirror. He hears the cracking of a thin layer of ice, but there is none to be found. He feels so cold, but spring is here. The hands are on his shoulders and back, hauling him up over a ledge, away from the water, away from the cold. The light is here, with him, and he coughs, spitting up water and shivering violently, as if his body is alive. It didn’t get this far last time, and it doesn’t know what to do, so he empties his lungs of water and opens his eyes to the light. 

The hands are attached to a man, and the man is looking at him. He has a big bushy mustache that is so familiar, a full familiar, but the ends are curled and turning pink. His brown eyes are wide, alarmed, but the edges crinkle in relief when he sees Darkiplier looking at him. The recognition hits, and the is a warmth in him that isn’t angry, for once. It isn’t the internal inferno of rage that courses through his being and fuels his purpose. It feels like a hug after a long day, like hot chocolate in your belly, like- 

“William,” Darkiplier says, waiting for recognition, but there is none. The man just stares at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and the light has left him for good.


End file.
